The Courser and the Wolf
by Wrienne
Summary: Cullen Rutherford kept his feelings for Ellana Lavellan a secret. He was never able to confess his feelings, even as the Inquisition was disbanded and everyone went their different paths in life. But five years later when a certain elf rogue knocks on his door, Cullen is pulled back into a bigger plot than ever. Whether to save or end the world of Thedas - and the woman he loves.


Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford of the Inquisition, previously templar and Knight-Captain, then Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, had always disliked Solas.

Being a mage - an apostate - aside, he had just not liked the elven man ever since they came across each other after the utter devastation of the Divine Conclave and a giant hole had been ripped open in the sky. No, seriously - it wasn't just because he was a mage. Cullen's disinclination toward magic users had changed, little by little, throughout the years. It had started already during the conflicts in Kirkwall, when he witnessed what Hawke had done for the city, despite being a mercenary apostate. But the sovereign hadn't truly stopped rolling and fallen to a still until he had encountered the Inquisitor.

An elven female of short black hair, piercing violet, sometimes also pink eyes, and all the natural grace and elegance her people were known for. A woman who was as strong as she was strong-willed, a fact made so obviously clear one evening when the big group had been drinking at Herald's Rest and Iron Bull challenged everyone to a test of might.

While Cullen, Blackwall, members of the Bull's Chargers and a few brave souls of the Inquisition's troops had stepped up to the task, they had all resigned after an arm wrestle or two, causing the rest of the tavern's occupants to give up without trying. All but the Inquisitor, who despite being a mug or two in too much, had seemed strangely confident even though the Iron Bull made fun of her slight frame. She had taken his taunts in dignified stride, and countered the three or maybe four-times larger Qunari with a challenge of her own: if he could shoot one single arrow, even a misfire, from her personal bow, she would supply him with all the redheads and sovereigns in southern Thedas.

"Are you quite serious, boss?" Iron bull had asked, an amused curve to his lips.

"I am... quite serious," the Inquisitor had said, wearing a smile that was more drunken than Cullen believed she had wanted it to be.

"All the redheads?"

"All… of them who are willing. Though, who wouldn't… be willing to be with the person who bested Andraste's very Herald?"

There had been a sliver of venom toward the end of her sentence, but Cullen doubted very many people had heard it over the booming laughter of Bull.

"You seem confident, boss," the enormous qunari had said, grinning widely. "I probably shouldn't ask this but since it seems like tonight is the night where the impossible might be possible, I'm going to anyways. Instead of any redheads, would _you _be willing to offer yourself?"

At this, the Herald's Rest had grown deathly silent in an instant. Everyone had stared, Cullen too; too breathless and shocked at the Bull's audacity to speak or think anything. Or well, Cullen had thought two things.

The first thing was that he was glad Solas considered himself too good to hang out at Herald's Rest. The second thing was that Iron Bull was a braver man than Cullen could ever be.

The tavern patrons had all waited in anticipation for the Inquisitor's reaction. Cullen had thought she would hit Iron Bull and walked out of the Herald's Rest in well-deserved indignity.

But she hadn't. Instead, the Inquisitor had smiled nearly from one elongated elven ear to another.

"Why not?" the Inquisitor had said as she drained her tankard. "Let me just grab my bow from my quarters."

This had caused Bull to laugh and slap his knee so loudly, Cullen had thought Krem would slap his chief out of irritation. The sudden noise, paired with the realization that the Inquisitor had agreed to the ludicrous deal, had broken everyone out of their petrified state. A searing hot betting match among the tavern crowd ignited. Money had exchanged hands as freely as drinks as the Inquisitor walked - or rather, wobbled - out of Herald's Rest.

Everyone had seemed certain that Iron Bull would outclass his boss. But Cullen hadn't been so sure. His suspicion had been confirmed when Varric, a skilled businessman if any, had placed his bets discreetly. In the rowdiness of the tavern, as people slowly trailed out to watch the match, nobody but Cullen had seemed to really notice.

Cullen had been doubtful of the rogue storyteller. He had rarely been out on the field with the Inquisitor and the others. But Cullen had seen enough of her and Bull to be able to accurately judge their individual strength. Even if he hadn't, a child would have been able to tell the difference in might between a female elf and a male qunari.

Even a child would have been able to tell that the knot inside Cullen's stomach was rooted in something entirely else than mere professional concern for his and everybody else's leader.

"I hope this isn't some elaborate scheme to get me into bed, boss."

Iron Bull and the Inquisitor had positioned themselves in the upper courtyard of Skyhold, by the stairs leading up to the main castle unit. Their target was on the other side of the courtyard and was one of the training dummies that Cassandra loved to abuse.

Everyone gathered around had been gawking at Iron Bull's continued shamelessness. Although everyone was far deeper into their cups than perhaps usual, Bull could probably drink a literal bull under the table. And though he didn't shy away from subjects of sexual nature, Cullen had never heard him be so blatant, especially toward the Inquisitor. Perhaps he really was drunk.

Or perhaps things on the field had developed their relationship toward… something untoward.

Cullen stood in the far back. Partly because he had been a beat too slow in his failed attempt to reach Varric and ask the dwarf about his bet. Partly because he hadn't wanted anyone to see how often he looked toward the enormous castle doors, hoping and praying to Maker that a certain bald-headed elf wouldn't be annoyed by the rowdy crowd outside and decide to steal a glance outside his strange study.

If the knot in Cullen's stomach was any indication, Solas had reason for a far more justified reaction.

"I didn't take you for a shy woman," Iron Bull had continued. "If you wanted me so badly, you could have just asked."

"Don't flatter yourself yet, Bull," the Inquisitor had said, a wolfish smile on her lips. "Gotta win first."

"You can still back out, boss."

"Back at you," she had said, handing him her unstrung recurve bow and a bowstring. "Be careful not to pull one of your precious muscles on your precious rack. I would hate for our little challenge to ruin your very impressive physique."

Bull had chuckled and started to wind the string around one bow tips. "Like that would happen. If your puny little stature can handle it, I'm more than…"

His voice had trailed away. As had the general murmur in the crowd surrounding them.

Because the enormously burly qunari had not been able to string the Inquisitor's bow.

Cullen had felt like he was watching a miracle. Something even more wondrous and humanly - or well, elvenly - impossible than he already had when he saw the Inquisitor step out of the rift in Adamant Fortress.

Because where Iron Bull, the strongest fighter of them all, failed to even string the Inquisitor's Bow, the much smaller elven woman had no trouble stringing the bow and releasing a shot in one smooth movement.

The arrow had burrowed into the training dummy with enough power to rip open the canvas, exposing the straw and wood underneath. Cullen was glad that Cassandra was too busy reading to not be in the present gathering either. When she inevitably found out, however, she would surely be dismayed. Unless he was able to fix it beforehand.

For a moment, the crowd had stood still. But then a burst of surprised laughter and joyful shouts had erupted, filling the courtyard with noise. Money had exchanged hands one more, and Cullen didn't miss the enormous pouch Varric sneakily had placed underneath his coat. Blackwall had also seemed to bet on the Inquisitor, though not entirely as much as Varric had, receiving a handful silvers and coppers from all of Bull's Chargers, Dorian and Sera.

The Inquisitor, smiling triumphantly at her win, had pushed her hair behind one ear and turned her amusement at Iron Bull. The qunari had stared, slack-jawed, at the elf.

"How about that, Bull?"

"This must be some scheme," Iron Bull had said, frowning despite the good-natured glint in his eyes. "Give me one more try, boss."

The Inquisitor had shrugged. "Very well."

She had unstrung the bow and allowed Iron Bull one more try. Perhaps because he had observed the Inquisitor with his Ben-Hassrath skills, he was able to more swiftly mount the bowstring and bend the wood. But he was unable to fully string the bow, even after a third and then fourth time.

The Inquisitor, who had by then strung and fired her bow three times, didn't wear a single sweat drop on her brow. Iron Bull's gray skin was flushed from exertion when he finally voiced his defeat in the most dejected voice Cullen had ever heard.

A hooray coursed through the crowd. Most of them probably hadn't even seen their elven leader's skill with a bow and looked at her with admiration for perhaps more than the Mark for once.

"Are you really that disappointed you lost?" the Inquisitor had asked with not a little mocking smile. "I didn't take you for a shy man, Bull. If you wanted me so badly, you could have just asked."

At this, the corners of Iron Bull's lips had lifted until he finally roared with laughter.

"Well played, boss," he had said when he had calmed down. "Very well played. I've said this before, but you could really be a qunari."

"Thank you," the Inquisitor had said.

"You were never going to let me win, right boss?"

"With egg-head breathin' down her pretty neck? Think not."

It had been Sera, of course. People laughed like it had been a good joke. But Cullen could sense the underlying relief and curiosity that someone foolish - or perhaps brave enough - had voiced what everybody else had been thinking.

Rumors had simmered already back in Haven that the aloof elven apostate, who willingly had decided to remain in presence of templars and Chantry-believers, stayed due to more than just world-saving charity. Especially when he had been seen conversing with the Inquisitor almost exclusively.

Of course, there had always been the possibility that he talked to her merely because of the mysterious Mark. After all, they had never touched in public or been seen with each other save for outside Solas' abode and when they were out on the field. Even if the two had been able to hide their affection from their other two companions, Leliana always had more than a dozen eyes and ears trained on the Inquisitor at all times. Cullen didn't doubt the Inquisitor, but nobody was better at digging up things than Leliana. And since things had seemed innocuous on all fronts, Cullen had dismissed all the hearsay as merely that - hearsay. And for that, Ambassador Montilyet had advised to let the gossiping be.

The Inquisitor herself had always denied it, retorting quickly and humorously whenever the topic was brought up by one of her companions. Solas hadn't even deigned to answer any comments, giving everyone, even the Inquisitor herself, cold glares at the mere joking suggestion.

That's why there had always been a tiny part in Cullen that had hoped. That had wished, Maker be damned, that there maybe, just _maybe_, had been a chance for him to, one day perhaps, confess that there was a knot in his stomach whenever he thought of her with another. Whenever she touched another man, even brushed shoulders with maybe a soldier while squeezing through one of the smaller corridors in Skyhold. Whenever she smiled and laughed at something Dorian had said, a Tevinter mage who seemed to enjoy her company unusually much despite his inclination.

But at that moment, he had realized there wasn't any room in the Inquisitor's heart for him.

Maybe it had been all the ale. Maybe it had been the adrenaline from the competition. Maybe it had been the crisp night air and the suddenness of the suggestion. Maybe it had been all three. But for the first time, Cullen saw the slender elven woman, stronger than Bull and more strong-willed than any person he had ever met, blush.

It hadn't been obvious. It had just been something her closest companions and advisors would have noticed, if even them. Since everyone there had been drunk, they might have just disregarded it as a flush of the cold outside, or the buzz of far too much ale. But Cullen had seen it for what it was.

His first instinct had been to deny it, which he did. But then he and only he had glanced up toward the castle proper. There had been a slender, unmistakably elven figure standing on the stone landing outside the door leading into the atrium from the outside of the edifice. It had been too dark for Cullen to discern any features, but the proud stance and eyeless, watchful stare was distinct enough.

And Cullen knew that he had lost.

"Don't be silly, Sera," the Inquisitor had said, her voice sounding muffled in his ears. "Now, who wants another round!"

The cheer had nearly drowned out Cullen's thoughts as the crowd had gathered around Iron Bull and the Inquisitor, following them back toward Herald's Rest. Cullen hadn't gone with them, declining Blackwall's attempt to bring him with. Instead, he had headed back to the battlements, toward the tower where his office and resting area was installed. He had been tipsy but not nearly drunk enough to handle the evening's revelation, which had been why Cullen had grabbed a bottle of his strongest before he had climbed up the ladder.

Even if Cullen had managed to drown his memories in spirits that night, he wouldn't have been able to continue drinking himself into oblivion during the rest of the year of the Inquisition. Especially not since he was off lyrium for the first time in many years. It would have made his mental state too labile, too explosive.

Too honest.

Because as the year passed and the Inquisitor managed to thwart foe after foe, rift after rift, her relationship with Solas intensified. Cullen wasn't sure how many had noticed, but he had been certain that Leliana, Cassandra and Varric knew, even if they didn't say anything. He was rather sure Iron Bull also knew, Tal-Vashoth as he later became. The jokes and suggestions gradually died down in the closest circle, however, which made Cullen fairly sure that even Cole was aware of the elven couple.

It had… hurt. Immensely in the beginning, more so when it continued.

But it didn't last.

The state of the Inquisitor and Solas' relationship had appeared more tightly intertwined than ever when suddenly the mood changed between them. Cullen doubted he was first to know since the battle against Corypheus had been closer than ever and he had been too busy losing sleep worrying over battle tactics and his troops to see the Inquisitor and her companions. In fact, he hadn't noticed himself; it had been Leliana who shared the elves' sudden separation.

For the first time in months, Cullen had allowed himself to hope again. And his hope had grown when the Inquisitor approached him and spent many hours with him in the war room, planning until late in the night. She had seemed her usual strong self, laughing and joking while simultaneously focused. A few times, she had even fallen asleep in a chair while he had gone to the kitchens for some food. Cullen had carried her back to her quarters, tempted on more than one occasion to remain for the night. To confess.

To tell her that he cared for her very much and wondered if she might care for him too.

He hadn't, of course. Coward as he was, he couldn't bear to burden her with his desires. After all, she was the Inquisitor. Herald of Andraste. He was her commander. There had been enough gossip circulating when she and Solas had been an item; he no doubted there would be so much more to say if people suspected _him _of sharing her bed. Especially when people already were doing their best to undermine their organization.

So, no. He couldn't stay. He couldn't tell her.

He couldn't be with her.

But Cullen still hoped. There would come a time when the Inquisition wouldn't be needed anymore. When the Inquisitor no longer would be "the Inquisitor".

When she no longer murmured Solas' name whenever he carried her back to bed after one too long evening of planning.

He had hoped that it would be after Corypheus had been defeated. After the greatest evil and threat against Thedas had been vanquished. Maybe then, Cullen would be able to admit his feelings for her. Maybe then, enough time and turmoil had passed for him to find purchase somewhere in the Inquisitor's heart.

But when Solas disappeared after that fateful battle with Corypheus, Cullen realized that he had been holding onto fool's hope. Everyone had been angry with Solas for his vanishing act. Everyone had felt betrayed that he wouldn't deign to stay even a minute for the celebration. Everyone knew that despite what had maybe been or maybe not been between the apostate and the Inquisitor, he had only remained for that orb. The relationships people had formed with him, what brittle bridges of friendship they had managed to establish to him, had meant nothing.

Everyone knew. The Inquisitor knew. But contrary to everybody else, Cullen didn't hear her speak ill of Solas even once. She moved on quicker than anyone too, returning to her straightforward attitude and confident smiles within a day.

But Cullen had caught her once or twice when she had lost that guise. When she had, she had just looked… sad.

Whatever the Inquisitor saw in the haughty, disloyal elf who had removed the Dalish tattoos on her countenance, was something nobody else could see. She saw something in the elven apostate that Cullen couldn't distinguish no matter how many times he tried. No matter how many times he tried to place himself in her shoes, underneath the banner and weight of being Inquisitor, Cullen couldn't possibly understand.

But he remained by her side anyway. Partly because she believed the Inquisition wasn't fully done weeding out the Venatori agents in the south and he believed in her belief. Partly because his stupid, stupid sense of hope would not go away. His heart didn't care that it hurt; it still wanted, still yearned.

So, Cullen remained one more year with the Inquisition. The organization managed to stabilize the lands, and he watched the Inquisitor's sadness fade. Upon the second year, it was gone completely and she appeared just as she had when she had beaten Iron Bull in a match of strength. And when it finally came for the Inquisition to visit the Winter Palace and the new Divine for a political meeting that had been without its like ever since the Divine Conclave during the birth of the Inquisition, Cullen felt like he was riding next to the same strong, strong-willed elven woman who he had met then. Before the Mark started to grow and hurt after two years of dormancy. Before their old companions welcomed them with ale, open arms and a wrinkle extra or two in the premises of the Winter Palace. Before the Inquisitor discovered the qunari plot to overthrow the leaders of the biggest factions in southern Thedas.

Before the Inquisitor-no, _Ellana Lavellan _returned from beyond the mysterious mirrors known as Eluvians - wearing nothing but chasmic, nightmarish agony on her bare elven features.

Cullen had been there when she returned to the Winter Palace, delayed from her other three companions. With a missing arm, he and the others had rushed to Ellana's side, nauseous with concern over her health. But then they realized that she wasn't injured and that the skin and flesh had fused and healed, unmarred and impossibly perfect where her left arm should have been attached. There hadn't been even a single drop of blood on her equipment as she collapsed in Cullen's arms, more exhausted than anything.

No, Ellana had been whole. Whole but hollow. For Cullen had quickly realized that the pain on her face, in her streaming violet, sometimes pink eyes, was something else.

None of Ellana's companions that had emerged before her had asked what had happened. Dorian and Varric had both been shutting their mouth for once, and Cassandra, the new Divine, had regarded Ellana with enough sympathy that Cullen almost had expected the hardened, Nevarran Seeker to let out a tear herself.

"It… it's a long story, Curly."

Of course it had been Varric who broke the silence first. But at least he had had the courtesy to wait until Ellana had fallen unconscious.

Cullen had cradled Ellana closer, partly to keep her off the cold, marble floor and partly because he needed reassurance that she really was fine. He had raised a hand; he hadn't needed to hear it to know. He had recognized Ellana's hurt for what it was.

Heartbreak.

After carrying her back to her quarters, Cullen was perhaps the only one who had remained firmly seated when Dorian, Varric and Cassandra had retold their excursion into the Eluvians and finally revealed the qunari plot before the Exalted Council. He had clenched his fists together when they said that treacherous elven apostate's name, declaring his reascension and true nature as an elven god.

_Fen'Harel_ \- the Dread Wolf.

Their revelations had sparked a wild debate in the great meeting hall. Fereldens and Orlesians shouted over each other, and members of the Inquisition also seemed to have a difficulty remaining still and quiet. Cullen had thought Cassandra might rip off her hat and smack the representatives sitting on her right and next side with it, and he had noticed that even the famously cold Nightingale was scowling visibly in her corner of the hall.

The pandemonium had only devolved the more time and the more Cassandra tried to exert order. It didn't take long before it was nearly an all-out brawl. However, just before Cullen feared he might have to defend Ambassador Montilyet with his sword, the great wooden doors in the far back of the meeting hall had slammed open. Cullen had feared for who it might be, not wanting the nobles from either side to see her pain for what it was, to take advantage of her like vultures upon rotted corpses.

But to his surprise, Ellana had appeared strong, stronger than ever as she strode into the center of the room. All eyes were on her and voices had died out as swiftly as a candlelight in a draft. The attention must have been searing, yet Cullen noticed not even a hint of hesitation or fear or any of her earlier pain when she lifted a familiar tome over her head.

"I announce the Inquisition disbanded!"

There had been anger in her voice, frustration. But also more determination than Cullen had ever heard, which was saying a lot. And he knew that despite what she told everyone in the chaotic aftermath that followed, that despite what she told Blackwall - now Thom Rainier - Iron Bull, Cole, Sera, Varric, Dorian and Vivienne, that despite what she told him, she had a plan. She hadn't ended the organization because she had wanted to retire, perhaps return to her clan. She hadn't ended the organization because she was tired of fighting, tired of the burden of responsibility.

She had ended it because she was starting something new. And despite what Cullen's head told him, despite the fact that his desire for something more had been proven foolish and wrong time after time, his heart still refused to give up.

He still had hope.

"No."

Ellana might as well have slapped him. The word, the instant rejection, had hurt far more than anything he could have anticipated.

"W-why?" Cullen had managed between one nervous breath and another. "I know you aren't done-"

Abruptly, Ellana had pulled him through the small door opening leading into her room. While it wasn't wholly appropriate, Cullen couldn't help but feel a rush of exhilaration through his body when Ellana had pressed close. Not because she had wanted to get close to him; no, she had been trying to see past him into the lavishly decorated corridor outside.

Even though she was smaller than him, Cullen couldn't help but feel insignificant. Ellana was such a force of power, be it when she smiled, frowned, laughed or cried. Her violet, sometimes also pink eyes sparkled in the light of the candles next to the door as she looked up at him and shut the door. There was a slightly accusatory frown to her brows.

"Have you forgotten yourself?" she had demanded. "We're in the Winter Palace. There are more eyes and ears around us right here than anywhere else on Thedas."

"I-I apologize," Cullen had said, unable to formulate anything more eloquent with the former Inquisitor so close to him. "I forgot myself. I do apologize, Inquis-"

He had cut himself off. Ellana had smiled at him, finally taking a step back. Cullen had wanted to stop her, had wanted to pull her even closer, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to.

He was a coward.

"You finally don't have an excuse to hide behind," she had said teasingly. "Do you even know my name, Cullen?"

_Thousand times over_, he had wanted to say. He didn't.

"Of course… Ellana."

She had tilted her head to the side, peering curiously at him.

"You don't sound very sure."

"I am," he had said, clearing his throat. "I mean, I do know your name. It's Ellana. That's why I said it."

Inwardly, Cullen had wanted to smack his head into the door. Outwardly, he had done his best to not appear flustered when Ellana laughed.

"No need to sound so formal," she had said, amusement lingering on her lips like morning dew on grass. "I'm a one-armed cripple now. I can't even bow according to standard in this country anymore."

"There are far too many regulations and rules among the Orlesian nobility," Cullen had said with a slight smile of his own. "I don't think they know half of them themselves, and the other hand is probably just made up as they go."

"Ah, the Grand Game," Ellana had said in agreement, letting her eyes drift away. "I'd rather fight Corypheus again than be stuck here for a week."

"Agreed," Cullen had said, shivering.

Ellana had laughed again. Cullen had been transfixed. He hadn't been able to wrap his head around how she could laugh so quickly after wearing an expression so devastated, Cullen had thought Ellana would never smile again.

If that had happened, Cullen would have tracked down Solas-no, this _Fen'Harel_ himself and dealt with him. No matter the price.

"But to continue where we left off before you forgot our location…"

Cullen had watched Ellana sink down in one of two obnoxiously ornate armchairs before the fireplace in the room. She had gestured at the one before her. He had taken the hint and sat down, carefully.

"Yes," Cullen had said, feeling his smile evaporate when Ellana's features had hardened. "I know you're not done. I know you're going to try and stop him."

_Him_. Ellana might have thought that Cullen wouldn't notice her reaction, but he had. There had been no denying the agony in her eyes, the open rupture in her chest. She hadn't been bleeding, but that hadn't meant she hadn't been wounded.

She had. Maybe mortally so.

"I guess there's no hiding from someone who's been one of my advisors for so long," Ellana had said.

"No," Cullen had said in a neutral tone, hoping she hadn't been able to discern the pain in his voice. "I'm here because I'm willing to aid you with whatever you, the Seeker, Ambassador Montilyet and Spymaster Nightingale have planned."

Ellana had raised a brow. "You're far more sharp-eyed than Dorian ever gave you credit for. And that man gave you a lot."

Cullen had grimaced. "I hope you informed Magister Pavus that I'm not interested. Never was."

"He was never interested in you either," Ellana had said, eyes glittering with mirth. "You're just too… templar-y. He found you appealing to look at, that is all. As do many, I hear."

Cullen had sighed, even though her final comment had made his heart beat a little quicker.

"Yes, well. I know you're merely trying to change subject… Ellana. Please, let us return to the right topic. What the four of you have in mind, it… it has to with him, doesn't it?"

Ellana's glee had vanished, like rogue clouds on a sunny summer afternoon.

"It does," she had admitted slowly. "The Inquisition was simply too large. Too cumbersome. A smaller, more confined unit will prove far more successful, in my opinion."

"Then I want in," Cullen had said, sitting straighter. "You'll need all the help you can get. And I'm sure I've proven my loyalty, if not capability, over the last three years."

Ellana had inspected his face. Cullen had started to feel self-conscious by the time she spoke.

"Yes, Cullen. But…"

Cullen's heart stopped beating. "But…?"

Ellana had rested her head in the palm of her hand, letting out a long exhale as her violet eyes drifted toward the burning fireplace.

"You're a good man, Cullen. Better than most."

"I-I wouldn't precisely say that-" he had started.

"You are. It is good to be humble, but self-knowledge is not a poor quality in a person. Since you don't appear to think so yourself, I'm here to remind you that you are a good man. Very much so, in fact."

"I…"

Cullen had swallowed when Ellana arched an eyebrow in his direction. He had cleared his throat and gone on.

"Thank you."

Ellana had smiled faintly. "There you go. Wasn't that hard, was it?"

"No," Cullen had lied.

Ellana had chuckled, completely seeing through him once more. But her amusement faded quickly as she had continued.

"Truth is, Cullen, we know nothing about… him. And after tonight, we'll be a four-man army, if even that. Cassandra is the Divine - she cannot be running around the countryside, digging up elfroot for potions and gathering precious minerals for blacksmithing. She needs to unite the Chantry and stand as its leader as Divine Victoria. And while I'm sure Leliana may be able to contact Scout Harding and maybe a few of hers, our sphere of influence and power won't be anywhere near as expansive and significant as the Inquisition. It… it will be very hard, for all of us."

"So," Cullen had said, furrowing his brows. "Hardships come and go."

Ellana had made a face. "Yes, but I don't believe we'll be able to do much in a while. Even though I try to be optimistic - I mean, it was my choice to end the organization so I'd better be content with what we're capable now, as little as it may be - I cannot lie to you. Josie, Cass and Leliana have all agreed to pursue this, despite the difficulties. We're dedicated and-"

"Are you saying I cannot be?" Cullen had interrupted, feeling insulted. "Am I not as trustworthy as the others?"

"It's really not that, Cullen."

Ellana had seemed pained as she regarded him. "You've been through over the years. Ever since the Heroine of Ferelden's time, you've been affected by the changes in the world. I'm not quite saying that you're old but-"

"But you are saying I am old," Cullen had said dryly.

"Hey, at least you've still got both of your arms."

Cullen had sighed, for once not charmed by Ellana's sometimes questionable sense of humor.

"With all due respect, Ellana-"

"Be happy."

Cullen had stared at Ellana.

"What?" he had asked.

She had given him a weary smile that didn't quite fit with her elven, still youthful features.

"I've gotten this feeling throughout the years," she began quietly, "that you were never quite satisfied with your life in the Inquisition. The feeling got stronger the more time we spent together, and although I wanted to ask you, I was always too afraid to ask. You're a good man and former templar, so you wouldn't have abandoned your sense of duty when the sky threatened to pour legions of demons upon our world. But now that that ordeal is over, you're free to do what you want. I don't want you to feel obligated to follow me through an even bigger ordeal out of loyalty."

_It's not out of loyalty_, Cullen had wanted to say. _It's out of-_

"You mentioned that you never made any vows to stay out of marriage."

Cullen's breath had caught in the back of his throat. He coughed, blushing when Ellana's gaze turned amused as she watched him recover.

"Y-yes," he had said, hoping he wasn't blushing as hard as it felt he was. "Indeed I didn't. Nor of…"

"Celibacy. I remember."

Cullen had been unable to look Ellana in the eyes at that point. Embarrassed, he had stared far off to the side, doing his best to calm his burning face. He hadn't noticed Ellana until she had placed a hand on his shoulder.

Cullen had stiffened from head to toe. He hadn't known what to think.

What to expect.

"Be happy, Cullen. You've already served Thedas well and any templar would be proud of their order, knowing you were once part of it. Knowing you managed to wean off lyrium all on your own."

_Wrong_, Cullen had thought. _I was so close to relapse when you found me at my desk with the tools. When you told me to not do it, I couldn't deny it._

_I couldn't deny you_.

"You're an inspiration to so many, my former Commander."

Ellana had worn a tender smile as she looked down at Cullen with all the sincerity in the world. "You deserve to rest. A wife lucky enough to marry you and children who will all be as shy and well-mannered and loyal as you. That mabari outside seems like a good starting point; I heard they only choose one master and only listen to him or her. You seem to already share that bond."

"Ellana, I-"

"Cullen," Ellana had interjected sharply, before her expression softened once more. "You deserve more. Don't waste your chance at happiness to chase mine."

Cullen had opened his mouth to protest, but Ellana hadn't allowed him to. She had bent down and pressed a quick peck on his cheek before she headed toward the door. Cullen watched her leave, knowing that she drifted away from his reach with each step. He had wanted to rise, to follow her and grab her by the wrists. He had wanted to turn her around and tell her how he felt about her, how he had always felt about her. How chasing her happiness was his happiness too.

How she, everything about her, with her, was his happiness.

But Cullen hadn't risen. He had been petrified in the armchair, lost to the sparks and crackling of the fireplace.

Ellana hadn't wanted to drag her into her personal business. She hadn't wanted any of her companions to follow her chase after the Dread Wolf.

She had wanted to shoulder as much of that responsibility herself.

Cullen Stanton Rutherford, formerly Commander of the Inquisition, previously templar and Knight-Captain, then Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, had always disliked Solas. That dislike slowly, throughout the months that passed as Cullen tried to find his place in the world, away from Ellana and everybody from the Inquisition, morphed into pure hatred.

Yes, Cullen grew to hate Solas. Solas had scarred Ellana, the very epitome of strength and grace, beyond the point of return. And that meant she would always forever remain his, even though he had shattered her heart. Nobody else would ever have room in her thoughts.

Yet still, Cullen couldn't stop the bright flame of hope that burst to life within him when he woke up to his mabari barking in the middle of the stormy night - and he opened the door to his cottage to find Ellana Lavellan outside.


End file.
